


Harry's Falling Apart

by BrianJustin4Ever



Series: Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, HP: EWE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrianJustin4Ever/pseuds/BrianJustin4Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Harry had been left with PTSD after the Battle of Hogwarts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry's Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I researched common symptoms of PTSD for this story. Also, I know nothing about therapy or what's involved, so just suspend reality for the story.

Harry woke up shaking. The remnants of the nightmare were still going on in his head. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the scream of a child. It didn't work. In the darkness, he muttered. "The voice in my head - on a constant loop. Over, and over, and over again."

Harry knew something was wrong. When he first started having problems, he talked to the Weasleys. They all brushed his concerns aside. They pretty much said he was just reacting to the final battle and given time, it would past.

Harry believed that, or at least he did, at first. It didn't get better, though. It got worse.

To borrow a muggle phrase, his nightmares were just the tip of the iceberg.

If he went anywhere near Hogwarts, his heart pounded erratically and his breathing became rapid. More than once, he started to hyperventilate. He felt physically nauseous and close to vomiting as he sweated profusely. His arms got stiff and he could barely move them, no matter how much he wanted to.

He learned to make excuses whenever he was asked to go to Hogwarts, no matter the reason. He couldn't even help with the rebuilding of the school due to his problems.

He took to avoiding sleep. It was so much easier than the images he was forced to see when he closed his eyes.

When Ginny started coming around, and talking about how they should get back together now that Voldemort was gone, Harry felt nothing but anger.

Here she was worrying about something so unimportant, so trivial, when Harry was falling apart. Did she not see what was going on? Or was she just so caught in what she wanted that nothing else mattered.

He yelled at her and told her to leave him alone. When his back was turned and she made the mistake of putting a hand on him, he jumped before turning around and grabbing her wrist in a tight grip. "Never touch me again without my permission." He said it with such calmness as his heart raced and the muscles in his legs tightened, as if to get ready to spring into action.

All Ginny did was nod with frightened eyes.

She continued to pursue a relationship, no matter what he said. She really did live in a fool's paradise, hoping for a relationship that would never work. She was too young. No matter what she might have faced in Hogwarts that last year, she still had a lot of growing up to do.

They were captive that whole year they were apart, captive in their own duties, and love is a wild thing. It couldn't be bred in captivity, no matter what she _thought_ she wanted.

He was easily angered, even when no one did anything. He saw Ron and Hermione acting all in love one day and blew up at them. He shouted about how dare they be happy when so many people died in the war. He went on about how they should remember the dead, and not spit on their memories. He ranted, getting louder and louder with each sentence. He was pretty sure he stopped making sense pretty early on.

While Ron just started openmouthed, Hermione looked at him with what seemed to be contemplation. Harry knew her. The wheels in her mind were quickly turning, coming up with the answer for Harry's abnormal behavior.

He became claustrophobic in crowds. The whispers of the wizarding population only added to his anxiety and he took to hiding out at his flat, laying down listlessly all day, every day.

He didn't even have a job. He tried Auror training; everyone had said that was for him, but he couldn't concentrate on his studies if his life depended on it, and it did actually depend on it. His mind would wander during practical training. One day, Kingsley had taken him aside to talk to him. He explained that if Harry didn't started focusing, he couldn't become an Auror, no matter what he did in the past.

Harry clenched his fists. He wanted to yell, but he knew Kingsley was right, and frankly, he was sick of yelling. What good was a basket case Auror, anyways? Harry would just end up dead if he became an Auror. Trouble seemed to follow him. He'd probably be dead by 50 without getting married or having kids, or finding a career that he could tolerate. Early death actually might be for the best. Sometimes he felt as if he wanted to jump off of a cliff. It would be a quick death, right? He would no longer be scared, no longer wonder what or who was coming after him. Blissful death had to be better than living in a constant state of fear and alertness.

One day Harry was reading a muggle novel called _Enter Here_ when Hermione came barreling into his flat. Harry jumped, instantly on the defensive with his wand out, breathing rapidly.

Hermione had put her hands up in a placating gesture. "Harry, you need help."

Harry made a face that he was sure read 'duh.'

"I think you should see a muggle therapist."

"I'm not crazy," Harry stated defensively.

Hermione nodded. "I didn't say you were. The Weasleys might not see it, but I do. I think you're suffering from PTSD. I think a therapist would help."

"Why can't I just go to a mind healer then? If a muggle therapist could help, a wizarding mind healer would be gold."

"A couple of reasons. I'm not even sure if PTSD is a condition that is known to the wizarding world because of all of the potions and magic they have. It would explain why the Weasleys didn't seem too concerned. And number two, do you really want to take the chance of it getting out to the public that you're suffering from a muggle condition that makes it hard for you to function normally?"

"I can function just fine." When Hermione raised her eyebrows and snorted disbelievingly, he continued, "I can."

Hermione just stared at him.

"I don't know," Harry said, feeling indecisive, but he was done denying the fact that he couldn't function normally..

Hermione slowly approached Harry who backed away the closer she got. She stopped. "Do it for your sake, Harry. You need help. Ignoring it won't make it go away. In fact, it will probably get worse. Here." Hermione took out a card. "I asked my parents whether they knew any good therapists. Here's the name and number of the office. Give it a call."

Harry took the card and watched as she left. He looked down at the card.

_Doctor Richard Thompson_

And below the name, the telephone number was listed. The office looked to be located in London due to the area code.

After a few moments of thought, a decision was made. Harry had a phone call to make.

The day of his first appointment at Dr. Thompson's office arrived quicker than Harry anticipated. He was nervous, but he decided to be as truthful as possible. Dr. Thompson would only know that he was a war veteran, nothing more.

The session started out innocently enough. They talked for a few minutes. Harry explained about how his friend though he was suffering from PTSD and that she asked him to come. After a bit more conversation, Dr. Thompson gave him a fill in the blank worksheet. It all had to do with different situations. For example, one of the statements said "When I'm confronted with something related to the trauma, I ___________."

Harry had to be careful with his wording with some of the statements due to it being related to magic, but Harry was as honest as possible.

They talked about Harry's answers to the statements.

At the end of the hour, Dr. Thompson said, "It seems your friend was right to recommend you come to therapy. Based on everything we discussed, I agree that you're suffering from PTSD."

"How do I get better, then?"

Dr. Thompson took his glasses off. "I'm going to warn you right now. It won't be a quick fix. I'm going to prescribe some medication that might help, but I think you should continue to see me. Talking about the experiences you suffered could help."

Harry bit his lips. It was difficult talking about a wizarding war to a muggle and he wasn't sure if he could continue to watch his language. He was afraid he'd slip up, but he didn't want to live like this for the rest of his life. He could try, and if seeing a muggle didn't work, Harry would have to find another option. He eventually nodded.

Dr. Thompson smiled. "For your medication, do you have any allergies?"

"Not that I know of," Harry answered.

"Are pills okay? No strong gag reflex, or any other aversion to them?"

Harry shrugged. "I take pills rarely, but I can give it a try."

Dr. Thompson nodded.

Harry got out of there as fast as he could with the prescription clenched in his hand.

That night, Hermione came over. "Well?"

Harry watched wearily as Hermione came to sit next to him. He tried not to back away as he at the same time, tried to control his breathing. "I'm going to continue to see him, but watching my language where the wizarding world is concerned is going to be challenging. I just wished I could get better faster."

"There's no such thing as a quick fix," Hermione stated.

Harry stared at her incredulously. "Um, hello? Have you _been_ to the wizarding world?"

"But this is a muggle condition. That's the difference."

Harry nodded. "After all of this, I really don't know if I'll ever get back together with Ginny, even when I'm better."

Hermione nodded. "You need to do what's best for you. You owe it to yourself."

Harry leaned back, allowing his head to rest against the wall. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he wanted to get better, and he would do everything he could to get better.


End file.
